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Harry was glad he had Study Hall as his second period. He found that he could do all of his homework due for the day in those 45 minutes, except for Charms since that was his first class. That left an evening of relaxing and lazing around. He often wished TVs existed in the magical world, especially when first-years weren’t allowed outside of the common room after 8:00 P.M. Instead of catching up on all of the sitcoms his aunt and uncle wouldn’t allow him to watch, he often spent his evenings with Ron wondering what Snape did when he wasn’t teaching.

“Do you think he keeps a diary?” Ron wondered, dipping his cup into a bowl of ever-flowing apple juice. “I totally want to know what Snape would write in a diary.”

Harry laughed. “Probably something about hating me and how I’m the cause of all his misery even though he literally just met me a few weeks ago.”

“But seriously,” Ron said, sitting up. “Why does Snape hate you so much? I mean, he calls on you to answer his questions all the time. Doesn’t he get it by now that you’ll never know the answer? It’s starting to get annoying.”

“It sure is.”

A bushy head appeared over the back of the sofa.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What’s annoying, Hermione? That you’re a poindexter?”

“A what?”

“Someone who’s boringly studious and socially inept.”

Hermione gasped. “I am so not boringly studious!” She quickly shoved a pile of textbooks into her bag. “And I’m totally not socially inept! I can be social to whoever I want. You!” She grabbed an unfortunate Percy, who just walked by with his own stack of books. “Percy! This is Hermione Granger being socially ept with you! Socially engage with me!”

Percy wriggled free. “Wow, Ron. I expected you to make better friends.”

“She’s not my friend!” Ron bellowed as Percy took off.

Harry joined in. “We don’t even like her enough to be her enemy!”

Hermione’s eyes turned into slits. “You shouldn’t have said that, Ronald and Harold. I just so happen to know what Professor Quirrell is teaching us in class tomorrow since I repeatedly asked him until he gave in and told me, and it’s something that could potentially leave you scarred for life.” She stared at Harry. “And I’m not talking about some lightning-shaped scar.”

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Herbology was thankfully in the morning, so it wasn’t as hot. The sun still beat down through the greenhouse glass ceilings like a thick batter, but Sprout had plenty of fans and mist to cool everyone and every plant down.

Sprout rushed into class just as the owl hooted. Breathless, she scurried to the front of the class with a bottle in her hand. “So sorry I’m late, class. I had a free period last period and went down to the dungeons to visit Severus. He had the nerve to continue teaching his sixth-years about Felix Felicis when it was plainly obvious that I wanted some alone time with him. Anyway, I needed to get some of his Dittany. Let me tell you all: don’t lure a potential lover into a storage room and attempt to kiss them, thinking you’re doing it in private. All those sixth-years totally heard us scrambling around in there. Well, stop dilly-dallying. Who can tell me what Dittany is?” She held up the bottle of a sparkling clear liquid.

Hermione raised her hand. She didn’t notice Dean and Seamus mimicking her; they poked each other in the eye. “Dittany is a healing potion. It can cure wounds such as deeply embedded lightning-shaped scars.” She looked smugly at Harry.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Sprout said.

“Can you give us 2,000 more so we can be in first place?”

“Minus ten for asking me that.”

“You’ll never win, Granger,” Malfoy snapped.

Hermione smirked. “Oh yeah? Then why did I just pass the finish line to maturity?”

“What?”

“Professor?” Hermione asked, smiling proudly at Malfoy’s confusion, “will Dittany be on the test?”

“Oh, we don’t have tests,” Sprout said dismissively. “We just have pop tests.”

“Why are they pop?” Harry asked.

“Because I don’t know when I’m going to give them, and they make a lot of noises ‘cause they go pop because of the paper I use. They’re from a laughing tree, and it goes pop pop pop!”

“Oh, look,” Susan said, picking up a twig. “Maybe I can use this one as a wand.”

“Professor Sprout?” Lavender trilled, waving her hand around a little too dramatically. “Why is that your name?”

“Um, because I teach plants.”

Lavender blinked. “You teach plants what?”

Harry laughed. No one else did, so he felt pretty awkward. He picked up a trowel and waved it in front of his face to make it look like he was acting normal. However, the trowel wasn’t normal. It sprouted claws and attacked his face. “Ah!”

“Harry’s being attacked by a garden tool!” Ron yelped.

“Best day ever!” Malfoy howled. “My father will definitely hear about this!”

“Sprout to the rescue!” Sprout ran over to Harry and snatched up the trowel. “Bad trowel. Bad! You know you’re supposed to dig into dirt and not human flesh. Potter, are you okay?”

Harry slowly sat up. He had a few cuts on his face. “Someone pass the Dittany.” 

“Whoops.” Hermione looked up after “accidentally” knocking the bottle over. “My bad. Looks like you’ll just have to get more scars.”

“You know,” Malfoy said, eyeing her, “if you were in Slytherin with me, we’d be great friends. We could harass Potter all the time.”

“Oh my wiz, I know! I mean, ew. Slytherfreak.”

“Can I get that Dittany now?” Harry asked, about to faint.

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Harry had to ask Snape himself for the Dittany. It was extremely embarrassing. He asked after class. For a moment, he thought Snape was going to say no and throw a slug at him or something. To his surprise, Snape gave him the Dittany. Snape also demanded he write a sixty-page essay on the effects of Dittany. Only Hermione seemed bummed that only Harry was supposed to do that assignment.

Harry wandered into Defense Against the Dark Arts with Dittany dripping down his face. The stuff smelled like boiling burned cauliflower. He wasn’t surprised when Ron decided to sit next to Hermione and not him.

“G-g-good morning, class,” Quirrell said in his usual shaky voice. Listening to him teach was very painful. “T-t-today, we have a special g-g-guest.”

“What was that, Professor?” Lavender asked. Beside her, Parvati giggled.

“I said we have a special g-g-guest.”

“Sorry. Didn’t quite understand you.”

“A special g-g-guest.” 

“A gugugu what, Professor? Excuse me. You’re difficult to understand.” Lavender was clearly trying to waste time on purpose.

“We have a special guest, you imbecile children!” Quirrell suddenly roared.

The entire class just stared at him.

Quirrell adjusted his turban and cleared his throat. “As I was saying, we have a special g-g-guest today, children. Today, we will b-b-begin our study on a dark c-c-creature c-c-called a hag.”

“Don’t talk about Hermione like that,” Ron said.

“Hey!”

Quirrell stepped aside to reveal their guest. Out of the shadows stepped a woman in a long, ragged dress. She had black hair falling over her face, down to her knees, covering her arms. She had a dark face with hollow eyes that stared at the class as if she was deciding which one to drag back to her cave. The hag shuddered like the cold aura she displayed weaved through her soul. She bared her teeth, grimy and yellow, and spoke. “Well, hi, children.” She sounded surprisingly chipper. “My name’s Annis. No, that’s not short for anything. I’m a hag. I live in a cave in Deadmarsh. That’s in England. The main reason why I decided to join Quirinius here in your class is to inform you youngsters that, contrary to popular belief, hags are not the flesh-eating monsters they’re portrayed to be.”

Harry didn’t know about the rest of the class, but he wasn’t exactly convinced. Annis looked like she just crawled out of a ditch filled with human bones.

Annis grinned, which didn’t help with the “I’m not a flesh-eating monster” story. Bugs crawled out of her mouth. “We hags aren’t vicious, no. Actually, we have many exciting interests. I, in particular, enjoy poetry, crocheting, and gardening. I also offer babysitting services.”

Malfoy snickered. “Yeah, so you can eat them.”

Annis glared at him. “That’s just disrespectful. Hags eating anything but vegetables is an evil stereotype. How would you like it if I said all boys with bright blonde hair are vile, soul-sucking monsters with even more evil tendencies?”

“But he is,” Hermione said.

Annis suddenly pointed to Harry. “I heard that.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Heard what?”

“That moan. I know what moans sound like since I do it. Are you sleepy or something?”

“I just sighed deeply and impenetrably.”

Parvati raised her hand. “Is it true that you hang human skin on your walls like artwork?”

Annis sighed. “Did you not just hear anything I said?”

“Nope.”

Annis looked at Quirrell. “Okay, this isn’t helping. Where are the hors d’oeuvres? You said there’d be finger food—and I don’t mean human fingers!”

“I can’t believe that hag brought a hag to school,” Malfoy mumbled while Quirrell showed Annis to a table full of food that looked oddly like unusual meats. “My father will surely hear about this.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Malfoy, your father must get sick of hearing every single word that comes out of your precious little mouth.”

“My father’s Dumbledore!” Malfoy shot back.

Harry froze.

“Ha! Just kidding! I’m trying to mess with your mind.”

“Well, it definitely worked. I was like, what?”

“Well, c-c-class,” Quirrell said, leaving Annis to her meat-eating, “it l-l-looks like Ms. Annis no longer wants t-t-to talk since we all think she’s a flesh-eating m-m-monster. Believe me when I t-t-tell you she’s not. I know of another k-k-kind of flesh-eating m-m-monster—no offense.” He scratched the back of his turban. “So, what should we l-l-learn then?”

“You’re the teacher,” Ron pointed out.

“Yes. Well, let’s learn the B-B-Breathing Spell. Actually, it j-j-just makes you breathe, and you’re all b-b-breathing, so you d-d-don’t need to learn it. Ms. Granger? Did you say something?”

Hermione grimaced. “No. Excuse me. I burped. Wow. Thanks for making me admit that in front of everybody.”

Annis walked over with a plate of meat. “This meat—which isn’t human—tastes like unicorn. I don’t eat unicorn. Contrary to popular belief, I love unicorns. They make me feel all tingly and bubbly inside.”

“Hey, Ms. Annis?” Hermione said. “Like, I totally believe you when you say you love life and everything. Props to you. Anyway, I just want you to know that there are two little boys in this class who wholeheartedly believe you’re pure evil.”

Annis dropped her plate. Meat juice splashed onto Neville. “Who are these two boys?”

Hermione pointed to Harry and Ron. “Them are the naysayers.”

Without moving her feet, Annis rotated over the floor. Harry felt like he was in a horror movie and was about to get attacked by some possessed demon. He knew Annis said she didn’t eat people, but the drool dripping down her crooked teeth made him think otherwise. “Can I offer you a napkin?” he said quietly.

“I am not evil!” the hag screamed in a very evil voice.

“Harry, run!” Ron shouted.

Harry, as well as the entire class, scattered. The hag went on a rampage, throwing spit and foam everywhere. Quirrell just nervously watched, wrapping his arms around his head like he was afraid the hag would bite it off. In the middle of it all, Hermione sat at her desk, smugly smiling while absorbed in her Charms book.

Ron peeked out from behind a display of a werewolf. “Why is Hermione so mean, Harry?”

Harry peered through the werewolf’s cutout eyes. “Well, we were kind of mean to her first. We said we weren’t her friends.”

Ron pointed at the hag she set loose. “And this is why!”